


Warmth

by gloatingraccoon



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Past Character Death, Polyamory, Post-Sburb/Sgrub, Smut, Tentabulges, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloatingraccoon/pseuds/gloatingraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aradia is warm. So very warm. You don’t deserve this warmth, that much is clear. But you can’t help it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Land of Regrets and Second Chances](https://archiveofourown.org/works/381752) by [messageredacted](https://archiveofourown.org/users/messageredacted/pseuds/messageredacted). 



> AU in which the Scratch reset the players' universes to a timeline in which Sburb/Sgrub never happened, but the players start regaining memories from the game once they’ve grown into adulthood (think 9-10 sweeps for the trolls). This one is mostly just fluffy porn, really.

Aradia is warm. So very warm. She’s so warm that in the dim season sharing a recuperacoon with her is a real ordeal.

  
You don’t deserve this warmth, that much is clear. You don’t deserve her understanding, and most of all you don’t deserve her touch. But you can’t help it.

So you just stay there, cuddled over her, your head cradled on her breasts, her fingers traveling in your hair. Just like you used to do when you were kids, long before you understood why it was considered inappropriate to touch someone’s horns. It relaxed you and it always made you feel better, even when you were having one of your worst migraines, so how could it be wrong or improper? Soon enough your growing bodies brought you to see why, but you never stopped. You never really asked her to do it, but she didn’t really seem to mind, and it was always more comforting than erotic for you two.  
  
You used to do it in your other life, too. The one you both remember now.  
  
The one in which you killed her.

You can barely complete the thought without turning into a shaking mess again. She put you back together, as usual, but this doesn’t make it fine. It wasn’t technically your fault, but thinking that you just weren’t strong enough to resist Vriska at that time doesn’t really help.  
  
You still remember clearly that cursed night. You remember working yourself insane with Terezi trying to find a way to get back to Vriska. And then finding her once again in your life, in your Trollian, in your mind - only… changed. No more dragging you to excavation sites, no more pulling you out of your recuperacoon when you wouldn’t do it on your own. No more AA, just apocalypseArisen.  
  
Just cold.  
  
She still would check up on your health and tell you to go to sleep when you were overworking yourself, but she would never come to visit you or invite you over. You coded that game for her because at least it was something to talk about, something to do together. She talked like she didn’t care about anything anymore, and yet told you she would like it if you were happy. It was like having a moirail, albeit an extremely cold and frustrating one. You never fully accepted that change, but you knew you had noone to blame but yourself. It was your fault your love had almost died, it was your fault that she had changed so much. Then at some point you stopped struggling and just moved on - and that’s when Feferi came along.  
  
Your sea princess. If not for her, you’d have been culled a long time ago. But being the future Empress’ publicly recognized matesprit, albeit scandalous, gives you an advantage. People just see you as her psychic little pail toy, and possibly the driving engine for her next spaceship, so that’s apparently enough not to request your mutant head on a pike. Another thing you clearly don’t deserve. Seeing Feferi so happy and understanding about your relationship with Aradia hurts you even more than what would just cheating on her. It’s like she doesn’t fully realize how wrong this is and how much you don’t deserve it, or even worse, like she doesn’t take your relationship with Aradia seriously enough to be bothered by it, because let’s face it, she’s going to outlive her by thousands of sweeps, so why would she care? She’s also going to outlive you by thousands of sweeps, to be fair. You have no idea why she bothers with you at all, really. It’s not like she couldn’t have all the highbloods she wanted with a snap of her fingers: you’re pretty sure Eridan still has a thing for her, and you have to give him credit for having stopped acting like an obsessed creep a long time ago.  
  
The fact that you can also remember that your potential-maybe-kinda-future kismesis was responsible for blinding you and killing Feferi in that other timeline is not helping you clear up your mind. It makes you hate him even more, but definitely not in a good way. And at the same time, it feels so absurd to think of him that way. It’s like he were a completely different person now.  
  
What if Aradia is ok with you and Feferi because even she can’t take this seriously? Because she knows she won’t live long and thinks she can’t compete with a powerful woman who’s never going to grow old? What if she thinks she’s just a pastime or a pity fuck for you? Damn.  
  
You wish you could just fix yourself and not need anybody the way you need them - the both of them. You don’t deserve them, you don’t deserve these two amazing women in your life. You are weak and broken and twisted and it’s always twos with you, isn’t it? You couldn’t just be normal and be content with one and not risking to hurt anybody. At least your kismesis quadrant is linear for the moment - although it’s filled with someone who’s probably having a nervous breakdown over his regained memories, and who you’re not really sure you could stare in the eyes after this. Because the first person you hate is always yourself.  
  
You only realize you’re shaking when your claws dig scars in your palms and you can taste blood in your mouth from biting into your lip. Aradia shifts under you and you don’t want her to look at you, but you don’t want to let her go either. You need her, you need her like the sick, selfish fuck you are, you need to feel her warmth. You need to feel she’s alive. You need her to know how sorry you are, and how badly you need her. But you were never any good with words. So you do the next best thing.  
  
You lift your head and only look at her for a moment, seeing worry in her eyes as she runs her thumb over your wounded lip. Then you push your mouth on hers, and she flinches as your oversized fangs jab against her soft lips, but soon she relaxes in the kiss, caressing your face. Her mouth wraps on your lower lip, gently cleaning away the few blood droplets you had drawn, and you lick her lipstick off, surely smearing some on you, but your manly image is really the least of your worries right now. You just want to kiss, touch, taste, feel her, remind yourself that she’s alive, burn that thought into your senses, into your own blood until there’s no way you can ignore it. You slip your tongue into her mouth and she welcomes you with a thrill, her warmth, her mindnumbing, suffocating warmth ringing through all of your body. Blood is already rushing fast to your lower body, pushing the tips of your bulges out and making your pants painfully tight, but you don’t really care, not now, not yet. You can take pain, it’s need that you can’t fight at the moment. In a rush you pull the hem of her shirt up to expose her adored, heavy breasts, laced by a simple white cotton bra that you barely notice before slipping your hands inside to grope them hard. She flinches for a moment, and you slow down, running a shaking hand up from her breasts to caress her face. No matter how needy you are, you’re not going to hurt her. Not if you can help it.  
  
“Thorry,” you whisper, kissing her brow, her cheeks, her lips. “I’m tho thorry, AA.”  
  
She caresses your head, trying to get you to look at her, and failing because you’re a real pro when it comes to hiding. You sink your face into her hair, breathing hard in her scent, showering kisses on her neck.  
  
“It’s ok, Sollux,” she whispers, her hands running through your hair, holding you close. “It’s ok. I’m here, we’re here. It’s all over.”  
  
You swallow and nibble lightly at her earlobe, making her gasp and squirm. You want to bite her hard, but you know your fangs are a disgrace to her tender skin, and you’re not nearly stable enough at the moment to trust yourself to take that risk. Your eyes are fogging up and as you squeeze them shut, a teardrop falls on her skin.  
  
“Don’t leave me,” you can barely whisper, and she holds you tighter in reply. “Never leave me again, ok?”  
  
“I won’t,” she replies, and you can hear her voice break up a little. “I’m here, Sollux. I’m here.”  
  
You know it’s not true. You know she’s going to live around half of your life at most. But for now this lie, this illusion is enough. You shift to cup her face in your hands and you can see tears glistening in her eyes, before you kiss her again, and it’s warm and deep and desperate for the both of you. You caress her, running your hands over her breasts, more gently now, following the shape of her waist and hips and thighs; she feels so different than Feferi under your touch, soft and curvaceous instead of toned and slender, yet just as gorgeous and desirable to you. This is not your sea princess you’re touching: she’s the maroon-blooded girl you grew up with, the one who took you digging and put you back together when you had a migraine, the one who always knew what you needed even before you did. She’s your AA, and she’s alive, so amazingly warm and alive, and nothing else matters now. It’s her lips playing with yours, her tongue in your mouth, her warm body under yours, her hands on your skin - warm, calloused hands sliding under your shirt, caressing your back and shoulders and chest, following and stroking the sharp lines of that weak, skinny body of yours as if it really were worth touching. You shiver and groan at her touch, slipping your hands under her to squeeze her butt, and she whimpers softly, grinding her hips against yours. Your eyes roll back at the delicious friction between your bodies, and your hips buck against her in turn, but even if you’d love to spread her legs a little and keep grinding right there, your pants are presently killing you. It’s one of those times when you’re so excited that your bulges are trying to intertwine with each other, and it’s definitely not as fun as it sounds like, especially with clothes on. So you hike up her skirt a little and slide your hand up the inside of her thigh, right there to find the hottest spot on her body. She shivers as you cup that heat in your hand, finding her just as excited as you, her bulge hardened and writhing under the thin fabric of her panties, soaked in her fluids.  
  
“I want you,” you breathe on her mouth, your fingers slipping under the strap of her panties, and there’s no need to say anything else. She bites at your lower lip and arches her hips to help you with her underwear. Reluctantly you break the kiss to sit up on the couch and roll the panties down her legs and off to somewhere you don’t really care about. Probably the carpet, but whatever. Her hands tug at your shirt to pull you down again, but you shake your head, taking in that sight of her. Aradia Megido, your childhood friend, your lover, lying there in front of you, half dressed and breathless, all wild hair and soft curves. A crooked smile crawls on your lips and as she smiles back at you, you feel like you’re melting. You’d love to take her right here and now, just like this, and who gives a fuck if you end up making a mess. Your hand slips between her legs and she parts them to welcome your touch, squirming delightfully as you rub at the length of her bulge, then slip down to tease at the entrance of her nook, taking care not to hurt her with claws. She feels just as ready as you are, her lips tender and wet and so delightfully hot. Your bulges twitch painfully in your pants, your body instinctively drawn to that beautiful place, and there’s no way you can delay your undressing anymore without risking a genital infection or something. Wincing, you unbuckle your belt and she helps you pull both your jeans and underwear down to your knees, letting your bulges finally uncoil freely. You sigh both in pleasure and relief as she reaches to stroke both with her hands, but you stop her caresses soon, since you’re ridiculously sensitive at the moment and you want to have a chance at satisfying her before your release.  
  
You lie down over her again, kissing her softly, and arch your hips to reach between your bodies. You stroke one of your bulges slowly, letting it curl around your wrist to keep it out of the way, while she guides the other towards her entrance. You’ve had to learn this little ritual in time, both with her and Feferi, since if left to their own devices your bulges get dumb ideas such as trying to curl together and enter as one, which not only you doubt is even physically possible, but sounds like all kinds of horribly painful for both participants. Carefully you ease yourself into her, biting back a moan, and the tight, welcoming heat of her washes all over your body like electricity, and when you let your other bulge go so it can tangle with hers, it feels like too much, and at the same time not enough, never enough. She arches sharply under you with a gasp, her legs wrapping around your hips, and then you’re moving, thrusting, curling both inside of her and with her. She’s amazing, she’s perfect, mindnumbing, glorious, so hot and wet and welcoming, her globes already swollen and clenching down on one bulge, her own smaller muscle curling and rubbing feverishly against the other, her thighs so soft against your bony hips. There is nothing like this, nothing like the way her hands knot in your hair and the lock of her legs low on your back keeps pulling you close, as if she were afraid to let you go, nothing like the way her breathless moans make your skin crawl and leave you wanting more, as if there were no difference between her pleasure and yours, nothing quite like this feeling of being drunk and hungry at the same time, as if you were finally whole and hers, completely hers, joined through that burning, pulsing tangle between your bodies. Your thrusts grow hard and fast quickly, encouraged by her eager movements, and suddenly she goes stiff, all of her body vibrating as her nook and bulge clench tight on both of your lengths, as if trying to feel all that she could. She’s there, and you’re there too, and you’d love to hold on a little more for her, but the way her whole body feels like it’s melting and collapsing unto yours is just too much for you, and with a harder snap of your hips the tension that’s been building up between you breaks like a rope in the fire, and suddenly you’re coming, moaning through clenched teeth, your release gushing both into her and over her. Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It’s just like you to be so much more sensitive than her, but you don’t stop. You move a hand between you to squeeze the tangle of your bulges, slippery with your golden colour, and keep moving with her, unto her, concentrating on what little control you have over your softening bulges to keep them curling. It only takes a few thrusts before her own tension breaks and she arches sharply with a harsh cry, maroon fluid spilling hot into your hand. You ride out her climax with her, squeezing your hand tight and still thrusting to prolong it as much as you can, then she goes limp under you, panting, and carefully you disentangle yourself and slide out of her, dripping more of your mixed colours over your clothing and that poor abused couch in the process, but who gives a fuck? Certainly not you. Zero fucks to give at the moment. You always hated that couch anyway, and you only have it in your hive because Karkat wanted to get rid of it, which is saying something. You are a little sorry about her clothes, but you wouldn’t be Sollux Captor if you hadn’t learned all the best tricks to remove compromising stains from clothing.  
  
You nudge her to the side a little so you can lie down with her, and she snuggles up to you with a happy hum, seemingly uncaring about the mess you’re sitting in, which is just fine with you. Damn, you love this girl. You do a half assed job of drying your hands in your sodden shirt, and sink them in her bushy hair to cuddle her close.  
  
“We thould clean up,” you mumble into her neck, cringing a little at the unpleasant sensation of your limp bulges slowly sheathing back inside. You don’t move a muscle though, making it clear you have no intentions of getting up in the near future. She chuckles softly and plants a kiss in the crook of your neck.  
  
“Maybe,” she says, and shifts slightly to look at you. She looks so beautiful right now, flushed and completely spent, the hint of a smile on her lips, smelling like damp earth and sweat and sex. You know that look in her deep red eyes, intense and warm and loving, and yet tinged with worry.  
  
“How are you feeling?” she whispers. She caresses your face softly, her hand vaguely shaking, and you are once more amazed at the natural warmth that breathes through her skin. You squeeze her hand and kiss her softly on the lips.  
  
“Red,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around her again. “Tho much red for you, AA.”  
  
You hide your face in the crook of her neck and close your eyes, listening to the steady beat of her blood pusher and her warmth seeping into you. Nothing can erase the truth of what happened in your other life together, but now, you have this life to live in. And for now, for tonight, this thought, this closeness, this warmth is all you need.


End file.
